Steele After You
by Amy S
Summary: A fourth season series finale...the Major returns.
1. Prologue and Chapter 1

Steele After You  
  
A Remington Steele Story  
  
by AMY STONE  
  
Disclaimer This story is not in any way associated with the owners of Remington Steele. The character of Alan is borrowed from Tron. The characters, except for those I invented for the story, are not owned by me (if only they were...), and the story is not intended to infringe on any copyrights. It is meant as fan fiction and is purely for entertainment.  
  
___________________________________________________________________  
  
"The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it."  
-- Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray  
  
PROLOGUE -- PAINTING  
  
"So this is how you like to spend your Saturdays, eh?" Remington Steele asked, pushing a lock of hair back underneath his painter's cap. "I've always known you enjoyed hard work, but I hoped it didn't extend into your leisure time quite as much as it apparently does."  
"You're the one who volunteered to help me repaint the loft," Laura answered, playfully thrusting a roller at him.  
He took it and smiled.  
"I recall that you said you'd be too tired for an evening out tonight if you had to tackle the job on your own."  
"I wasn't trying to coerce you."  
He looked sidelong at her and said, "Yes, you were." He was enjoying what he took to be his influence on her.  
"Maybe a little." Laura adjusted the drop cloth over her grand piano. She looked up and added, "Thank you."  
Four years ago, she thought, would she have wanted to spend a domestic afternoon with him? Would he with her?  
"My pleasure," he said softly, holding her gaze. "I never thought I'd find menial tasks like paperwork and painting appealing. It must be the company."  
Laura philosophized, "Every menial task has its reward."  
"Oh?" he asked with a mischievous look.  
"Dinner and a movie, Mr. Steele," Laura chided. She turned to the yellowing wall and began to paint.  
  
** ** **  
  
"Aren't we done yet?" Remington Steele plopped on the tarp-covered sofa and wiped his brow with his painter's cap. He studied his paint- covered fingers with feigned disdain.  
Laura put down her roller and crossed the room, replying, "No. One more wall." She sat down next to him. "We can take a break, though."  
"Sweeter words were never spoken," he said, putting his arms around her.  
She twisted around in his embrace to face him. After a moment, their lips brushed.  
"I don't know if I have the energy for this, Laura, but I'll give it my best."  
"Good," she said, rising suddenly and retrieving a paintbrush. "One more wall."  
He studied the ceiling for a bit, shaking his head and grinning.  
"Come on, Mr. Steele," Laura said, returning to the couch and putting out her hand to help him up. He took her hand and hoisted himself up with exaggerated effort. Halfway, he pulled her to him and fell back onto the couch.  
"I thought you didn't have the energy for this," Laura said, dropping the brush and kissing him.  
Remington Steele replied devilishly, "I was referring to painting the last wall." Their kiss was longer this time. "What were you talking about?"  
Laura fished around on the drop cloth-covered floor for the brush. She handed it to him and kissed his cheek.  
"The last wall."  
"A promise is a promise."  
  
** ** **  
  
"And for the lady?" The waiter looked bored.  
Laura ordered.  
"Very good, madam," he said flatly. He disappeared into the dark.  
"Why is it waiters always sound so disinterested?" Laura asked.  
Remington sipped his wine. He made a face as he sucked the disappointing liquid off his teeth.  
"If waiters were too interested in their customers, people would feel self-conscious. Dinner conversation would suffer; people would decide to eat at home. Restaurants would close, followed by clubs, theaters, and other establishments that thrive on the dinner crowd." He raised a playful eyebrow. "Waiter interest would signal the end of western civilization as we know it."  
Laura laughed. "Well, the waiters of Los Angeles are certainly doing their part for western civilization."  
"And it's our civic duty to keep them in business," he joked. "That goes for the movie theaters as well, even if they do show drivel occasionally."  
"It wasn't that bad!"  
His pained expression told her he disagreed.  
She continued, "At least we'll never have to think about it again. I can't think of a single scenario where a movie called Undersea Doctors would parallel a client's case."  
He raised his glass. "To small miracles."  
She flashed her smile again and touched her glass to his. "To small miracles."  
The waiter reappeared with their salads. He quietly placed them on the table, asked if the wine was satisfactory, then promptly ignored the response. As he skulked off, Laura and Remington shared restrained smirks.  
When the waiter was out of earshot, Remington Steele said, "Oh, the things we do for the good of the public."  
  
** ** **  
  
Remington Steele put the top up on the Auburn as Laura climbed the steps to her building. As she fumbled for her key in her purse, he trotted up the stairs and stood in the dark nearby.  
"I left my key in the loft," Laura admitted finally.  
Remington immediately pulled two lockpicks from inside his jacket and stepped into the streaky light. Over his shoulder, he said, "This is the first time I've broken into a building for a nightcap."  
Laura laughed, "I hope whatever I've got in the fridge is worth a misdemeanor."  
He popped the door open and shrugged.  
"I just hope that bottle of Chateau du Monde we had was the last on earth. Those vintners are felons."  
Laura stepped forward, but he did not move his arm from the door. He studied her as he continued to block her path.  
"Mr. Steele," she breathed, as their faces again hovered a hairsbreadth apart.  
"Yes, Laura?"  
"Aren't we going inside?"  
"All in," he said, grazing his lips against hers, "good time."  
He kissed her, harder this time. She snaked her arms around his neck and closed her eyes.  
  
** ** **  
  
Laura slid the loft door shut behind them and screwed up her face.  
"Well, leaving the windows open didn't do it. It still smells like Pale Avocado in here."  
"You're welcome to stay at my place," Remington said, trying to balance the offer between a pass and a friendly gesture.  
Laura weighed the proposition for a moment.  
"I'll take you up on that, Mr. Steele."  
Laura went up the few steps to her bedroom to pack an overnight bag. When her back was to him, he furrowed his brow and grinned at the same time.  
  
** ** **  
  
At the apartment, Remington Steele emerged from his bedroom with an armload of pillows and bedding.  
"I left two pillows for you."  
He dropped the blankets on the couch and began to arrange his bed for the night. Laura grabbed an end of one blanket and helped.  
"How do you know I like two pillows?"  
"Lucky guess," Steele said as he tucked and folded.  
Laura eyed him.  
"How about that nightcap, Laura?"  
"That would be nice," she said.  
Remington went to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of cognac and two glasses. He poured as Laura fluffed a pillow.  
"To the rewards for menial tasks, Laura?" He handed one glass to her.  
"And to those who do those tasks."  
They sipped.  
"You know, Mr. Steele," Laura said as she sat down on the sofa, "this was a wonderful day."  
He sat next to her.  
"Your idea of a wonderful day is six hours of tarps and paintbrushes followed by a mediocre film?"  
"Don't forget dinner served by bored waiters. As you said earlier, it's not the activity. It's the company." Laura punctuated her statement with a kiss.  
Remington Steele kissed her back.  
"I can think of at least one activity tonight I've thoroughly enjoyed, however."  
"Oh? And what was that, Laura?" he asked, tracing her cheek with one finger.  
She showed him.  
When they parted, Remington muttered, "It's both."  
"Both what?"  
He answered, "Activity and company."  
Laura asked puckishly, "There are no other women you'd rather paint with?"  
"No." Laura didn't think it was possible for two people to be closer together, but he managed. "And there is no other woman I'd rather have in my bed."  
Laura was about to protest, taken aback by his directness, but then she glanced down at the sheets and blankets they were sitting on.  
She blushed, then hooked her thumb in the general direction of behind them and said, "This is a sofa. Your bed's in there."  
She watched in amusement as he tried to work out the intentions behind her observation. She let him suffer in exasperation for a moment. Then she unbuttoned his shirt.  
  
CHAPTER ONE -- EGGS  
  
When Laura awoke, she found the bed's owner propped up on one elbow looking at her. His free hand rested on her stomach. He looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words.  
Laura started with, "Good morning."  
"Good morning, Laura," he answered, snuggling her closer.  
She waited for him to say more. When he did not, she rolled toward him and went back to sleep with her head on his naked chest.  
  
** ** **  
  
The second time Laura woke, it was to the sounds of kitchen cabinets being opened and pans quietly clanging. She couldn't help but grin as she heard the refrigerator door open and Remington Steele mutter, "Bloody hell."  
She threw back the covers and pulled on one of his shirts. She buttoned two strategic buttons as she padded to the kitchen.  
"Something wrong?"  
He jumped.  
"Laura! I didn't hear you get up." He recovered from his scare enough to appreciate her attire. "I see you found something to wear, but you missed a few buttons."  
He ran his fingers up the buttons, pausing at the top one to kiss this beautifully disheveled woman standing in front of him. He let her think for a moment that he was going to button her up, then undid the only two buttons keeping the shirt closed.  
"What about breakfast?" Laura teased.  
"No eggs," Remington informed her as he carried her back to the bedroom.  
  
** ** **  
  
"I'd better pop out for some eggs," Remington said.  
"The way our luck runs, I was expecting phone calls, gunshots, or Mildred at an inopportune time. If no eggs is all I have to deal with," she smiled, "I can handle it. Cereal's fine with me."  
"Then I'd better get some milk while I'm out."  
Laura chuckled, "I thought I was the one with the bare pantry."  
"Much as I like to dream, Laura, I wasn't expecting company last night."  
He looked for his wallet.  
"Do you really dream about me?"  
"Dream, daydream... since the day I met you."  
Laura raised an eyebrow at this bit of revelation, but knew he was telling her the truth. The man she knew as Remington Steele had earned her trust, bit by painstaking bit.  
Remington pocketed his car keys and gave her a brief kiss.  
"I'll be back in fifteen minutes."  
She settled on the couch, pulling one of the unused blankets over her. She picked up the television remote and decided to watch a few minutes of the morning news while she waited for him.  
  
** ** **  
  
Remington Steele crossed the street and slid into the parked Auburn.  
"I trust you slept well, Mr. Steele."  
Before he could place the voice or protest, a man sat down in the passenger seat. Remington's gorge rose as he recognized Major Percy DesCoine. He also recognized the revolver in the Major's hand as the one he and Laura sometimes used.  
"We'll talk as you drive, Mr. Steele."  
There was little choice, so he shifted into gear and pulled into traffic.  
"What do you want, DesCoine?"  
DesCoine laughed in a way Remington Steele did not at all like.  
"Let me explain it to you, Mr. Steele," he drawled. "I released myself from prison a few weeks ago, thinking I had the perfect revenge planned once again. It was taking some time to get everything in order, so I kept an eye on you and Miss Holt. That observation gave me a much better idea."  
He paused.  
"That sure was some kiss on her doorstep last night."  
Remington Steele's eyes searched the road as he tried to figure out where this speech was going. He did not like the possibilities.  
"Pull off over there." DesCoine indicated an empty parking lot.  
Steele pulled in and put the Auburn in park. He turned to face DesCoine, careful to stay away from the revolver.  
"As you know, Mr. Steele," DesCoine began, "you were the cause of my Lily's death." He paused, as if waiting for disagreement. When Steele did not react, DesCoine went on. "You took the woman I loved, so I'm going to do the same to you."  
Steele lunged, only to be pushed back with the muzzle of the gun.  
"If you kill her, I'll find you."  
DesCoine laughed.  
"It's so much simpler than killing her, Mr. Steele, though I could kill her from here."  
He produced a small black box, which then disappeared back into his  
jacket.  
"My plan is far superior to simple murder, and with significantly less official interest as well. Here's what you're going to do, Mr. Steele: you're going to stay away from her." Steele felt sick as DesCoine continued, "You don't see her, you don't call her, you don't send smoke signals."  
Remington clenched his teeth and resisted the urge to strangle the man holding the gun.  
"If you do contact her, I'll kill her. I realize, Mr. Steele, that it's not quite the same as just killing you both outright, but it does make my revenge that much more worthwhile. She won't know what happened to you. You'll just be gone."  
Remington Steele searched his Greek sailor's vocabulary, but there weren't curses strong enough for this. 


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO -- NOWHERE  
  
Laura, with her legs tucked up underneath his shirt, watched the morning news, then a local morning talk show. When it was time for the game shows, she showered and changed. She waited a little more, thinking of flat tires, grocery stores that were out of milk, fender benders, and traffic jams. She called Fred, then Mildred. Neither had seen him.  
By noon she had called the hospitals, morgues, and movie theaters.  
  
** ** **  
  
At precisely nine a.m. Monday morning, Mildred unlocked the office doors and got ready for a typical day. She turned on the computer and started opening the morning mail. When the 9:15 appointment arrived, she poured him a cup of coffee, showed him to Mr. Steele's office, and assured him that the boss would be right with him.  
Laura arrived at 9:20. Her unfocused look of concern and pain met Mildred's cheery wish of good morning.  
"What's the matter, Miss Holt?"  
"Is he here, Mildred?"  
"With that expression, you can't mean your potential client in there." She nodded toward Steele's office.  
"No. I mean him."  
"No, honey. He's not in yet. How about a cup of coffee?"  
"Mildred," Laura said matter-of-factly, "cancel today's appointments, then meet me at my loft."  
As Laura left, Mildred hurriedly ushered the man out of Steele's office, locked the doors, and drove across town.  
  
** ** **  
  
"Well, kiddo, it wouldn't be much of a torrid affair without the affair, would it?"  
"You haven't heard the rest, Mildred."  
Entirely too eagerly, Mildred said, "Spill." At Laura's deadly gaze, she made a serious face, but leaned forward so as not to miss any juicy details. Laura told her the rest.  
"It sounds like you tried everything. What's left?"  
"I just don't know, Mildred. Maybe he's..." Laura's voice cracked. "Maybe he left."  
"He wouldn't do that," Mildred comforted. She thought about everything she knew about "the chief." She asked, "Would he? I thought that after London and that business with Daniel and the Earl..."  
Laura pulled herself together.  
"I can't believe it. If he does come back, he better have one hell of an explanation!" She stormed across the loft floor. She stopped near the door and muttered, "I hope I have the chance to hear it."  
Mildred crossed the room and put a reassuring hand on Laura's shoulder.  
"He'll be back. The chief is a lot of things, but he cares about you. That I know."  
Laura smiled weakly.  
Mildred had sudden inspiration.  
"Have you tried Daniel Chalmers?"  
Laura steamed, "If he left me wearing his shirt in his bedroom..."  
She lowered her voice suddenly, realizing she was telling Mildred a little too much.  
"If he left me to pursue some half-cocked scheme, he'll wish he was in the morgue!"  
"Daniel might have some ideas on where he might be," Mildred offered, silently praying for Laura's sake that Remington Steele was not up to something with Chalmers.  
Laura considered this.  
"The only trouble with Mr. Steele's old friends is that they're very difficult to find unless they want to be found." She thought for a minute, then brightened just a little bit. "We need Daniel to want to contact Mr. Steele."  
"Whaddya have up your sleeve, Miss Holt?"  
"Call the Times and place an ad, Mildred."  
  
** ** **  
  
Eight days later, at 9 a.m., Mildred answered the phone.  
"Remington Steele Investigations."  
"Mr. Steele, please."  
"May I ask who's calling?"  
"Lionel Applegate, of Applegate, Hoffsteter, and Prang Gem Brokers."  
"Just a moment."  
Mildred pushed the hold button, replaced the receiver, and rushed to Laura's office.  
"Daniel Chalmers on line one!"  
Laura perked up slightly for the first time in a week. Mildred ducked out the door as Laura picked up the phone.  
"Hello?"  
"Mr. Steele, please."  
"I'm sorry, Mr. Steele is out. This is his associate, Laura Holt. Can I help you?"  
Daniel dropped the act.  
"Linda! How nice to hear your voice."  
"Daniel," Laura intoned as her greeting.  
"Where's Harry? I've got something of great importance to discuss with him."  
"Harry's," Laura spat the name, "location is what I was hoping you could help me with."  
"What do you mean?" a confused Daniel asked. "I called you."  
"You called," Laura hissed, "about the ad in the LA Times for a jewel expo."  
"Oh, you saw that, did you? Looks like a wonderful way to spend a weekend."  
"I saw the ad because I placed the ad."  
"Whatever on earth would you do that for?"  
"Like I said, I need to find Mr. Steele. I thought you might know and I needed you to call the office. You're a very difficult man to find."  
"A trait that takes years of practice, my dear," Daniel explained, upset that he had been conned. He shook it off and said, "I haven't seen Harry in quite some time."  
"He hasn't contacted you in the past week or so?"  
"Not a word. And I happen to know no one else in our, ah, circle of friends," Daniel said, "has heard from him, either."  
"Jewel expo ads get around, do they?"  
"Quite."  
"If you hear from him, you call me."  
"I'll do that," Daniel said noncommittally.  
"You call me," Laura said forcefully.  
"Oh, I promise, Miss Holt."  
As Laura hung up, she was not at all comforted by Daniel's last sentence. 


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE -- RIO  
  
One month later  
  
Mildred signed the form on the messenger's clipboard, took the envelope, and hurried into Laura's office.  
"Your ticket's here, Miss Holt."  
"Thanks, Mildred," Laura responded without looking up from the papers on her desk.  
"I hear Rio's great. My niece went there a few years ago, and she said the first place you want to go is..."  
Laura sighed and stared at the connecting door to Mr. Steele's office. Mildred patted her on the back.  
"You just need a break, honey. Get back to being you." Mildred tried to perk her up. "Forget about what's-his-name."  
Laura gave a weak laugh.  
"Thanks, Mildred."  
  
** ** **  
  
Two days later, nearing midnight, Laura exited a green VW with a broken taxi light on the roof. She wore the standard tourist attire, less the camera.  
She handed the driver a wad of colorful bills and waved him off. The street was well lit, but Laura was interested in the proverbial dark alley off to her right. She fished a scrap of paper from her pocket, consulted it, looked around, and made for the alley's only sign of life -- a man standing in front of a door covered in peeling orange paint.  
She pressed another packet of bills into the man's palm and was silently ushered through the door. She let her eyes adjust to the dark, dust, and smoke. The bar was not any worse than those in LA, but she knew the kinds of things that people in unmarked, unlicensed establishments like this might specialize in.  
Everyone in the place wore Hawaiian shirts or dirty tank tops in a variety of sun-bleached colors. Magnum P.I. meets A Fistful of Dollars, she thought. She found who she was looking for before she moved any further inside.  
The man with his back to her at the other end of the bar wore a black tank top smeared with something Laura did not care to speculate on. He was ordering a drink.  
Laura took a tentative step. He can explain, she thought. I'll feel silly after I talk to him. It will be so obvious.  
With the next step, it was 'I hope he can explain.'  
Step. But what if? The idea crept forward from its exile at the back of her mind.  
Step. Not even a word!  
Step. He couldn't even find a better excuse than no eggs.  
Step. The expression forming on Laura's face was a mad combination of disgust and fury, hope and faith. My expression, she thought, is only decipherable to the short list of people who truly understand our relationship. She realized suddenly that the list did not include her anymore.  
She watched him pay the bartender.  
Just before she reached him, she heard him quietly address the bartender as he raised his glass.  
" 'All that's bright must fade, / The brightest still the fleetest; / All that's sweet was made / But to be lost when sweetest.' Thomas Moore."  
The bartender grunted and turned away.  
Laura took the final step and tapped the man on the shoulder. He turned.  
"Laura!" Remington Steele exclaimed, hurriedly wiping his chin with the back of his hand. "How in the hell did you..."  
The bar rang with the slap she laid across his cheek. The conversation in the bar halted for a moment until the bartender's snort told the patrons the show was over.  
"Decided to shoot first and ask questions later, eh, Laura?" He nursed his cheek and studied her with bloodshot eyes. "Can't say that I blame you."  
She seethed at him, deciding whether to slap him again or yell. Before she had the chance to do either, the bar exploded.  
As two of the bar patrons carried her out of the rubble, she saw Remington stand up. He shouted to the sky, "SHE found ME, you bastard!" 


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR -- THE GLITCH  
  
Remington Steele had resumed wearing his tailored suits when he landed in California. He handed his single suitcase to the cab driver and sat in the back. He watched wistfully as Los Angeles receded into the smog.  
Two buses and three more cabs later, Steele found himself in front of a five-story building all alone in a field of low scrub that ended abruptly in a cliff overhanging the coast. The edifice was modern and the glass facade was spotless, but the nondescript cars in the parking lot were covered in desert dust.  
Suitcase in hand, he crossed the lobby to the receptionist's desk.  
"Alan Bradley, please."  
The girl at the desk shrank at the name.  
"Uh, just a moment, sir," she stammered, reaching for the phone. "Do you have an appointment?"  
"Tell him it's Remington Steele."  
She pushed a button and waited nervously for someone on the other end to pick up.  
Eventually, the girl nodded meekly into the receiver and put it down.  
"You can use the elevator to your left, sir. Top floor."  
Steele stepped off the elevator into a thickly carpeted office that took up the entire floor. A huge ebony conference table filled the left side of his vision; a view of the ocean took up the right. Directly in front of him was a smallish oak desk. The man behind it was about Remington's age and height, sandy haired and similarly suited. He rose to greet his guest.  
"Steele! What a surprise," Alan said with a wide grin. He threw his arms wide, showing off his company's headquarters with pride. "What do you think of the place?"  
Alan indicated the void behind the oak desk, where a few comfortable chairs were positioned amid a sea of plush carpet.  
"Quite a change from the ogres you used to work for at Encom, isn't it, old boy?"  
"You got it. I just couldn't part with my old desk, though." He patted it as they passed.  
Once they were sitting comfortably, Alan asked, "So where's Miss Holt? When you worked on my case, you two were inseparable. You guys did one hell of a job finding out who was trying to shut down my first company."  
He lowered his voice.  
"I think they were right to try, though. It took two years, but Bradley Software is on the map! I do enjoy being my own boss."  
Steele chuckled at the affable entrepreneur, "You have a few peons down below who are terrified of you."  
"Who?" Alan asked, obviously concerned.  
"Your receptionist. She positively shriveled when I asked for you."  
"That's Marie. She's only been here two days," he explained. "I haven't had a chance to meet her yet, so she probably thinks I'm Al Capone."  
Remington Steele thought, The Untouchables, Kevin Costner, Sean Connery, Robert De Niro, Paramount, 1987. He pictured Laura's consternation at yet another movie reference and wondered if he would have the chance to confound her again.  
He abruptly got to the point.  
"Alan, I need a favor."  
  
** ** **  
  
Laura sat at the desk in Mr. Steele's office, forlornly surveying the wall of pictures opposite her.  
Mildred knocked on the open door, coffeepot in hand. She showed herself in and poured them each a cup.  
"You know, if he comes back, honey, the first place he'll go is your office, not his."  
"I asked you not to ask if I've heard from him."  
"Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Holt." She smiled knowingly as she gently continued, "but I didn't ask."  
"Is there something you need, Mildred?"  
"I'm just waiting for the printer to finish. I thought you could use some java."  
"Thanks."  
Mildred left the pot on the desk and went to check on her printout.  
Laura raised her head at the disembodied cry, "Miss Holt!"  
An exasperated Mildred reappeared and deposited a pile of computer paper in the center of the desk.  
Laura looked at it blankly.  
"What's wrong now? I thought you straightened out my hotel bill from Rio three weeks ago."  
"I did, Miss Holt. This is an entirely new problem." She pulled up a chair and consulted the first sheet. "This is supposed to be the expense report for this quarter."  
Laura failed to see the problem. She asked, "So?"  
Mildred thrust the paper at her. "Look!"  
The page only had five lines on it. Laura read them aloud: " 'Light bulbs, audio tapes, undersea doctors, radio, advertising.'" She shrugged and handed the page back. "That's strange, Mildred."  
"You bet it is. It gets worse. The next page is gibberish. The rest are blank!" Mildred imagined the red tape and sighed, "I'm going to need all your receipts for the last six months to straighten this out."  
Laura wasn't listening. She recited, "Undersea doctors."  
"Huh?"  
Laura perked up. "Give me that second page."  
Mildred handed it to her.  
"What's up?"  
Laura studied the jumble of letters as she answered, "Look at the first page again. First letters."  
Mildred's eyes widened.  
"Do you have anything that'll break a code on your computer?"  
"I don't know," Mildred said, "but I'll give it a shot."  
"Make me a copy of that."  
Mildred was pleased to see Laura jump at the puzzle.  
"You got it, Miss Holt!"  
  
** ** **  
  
Late that evening, Laura dozed on the sofa in his office, a library book titled An Introduction to Ciphers tented on the floor beside her. She had a copy of the printout and one of the pictures from the wall tucked in her arms. Mildred had left the office long before.  
The phone jolted her awake.  
Wearily, she stuck out an arm and picked up the extension on the coffee table.  
"Hello?"  
"Miss Holt, are you still there?"  
Laura sat up and rubbed her eyes.  
"Any luck, Mildred?"  
Deciding the truth was better than false hope, she answered, "Sorry. Nothing. You should head home yourself, hon. We'll start fresh in the morning."  
"Ok, Mildred. See you tomorrow."  
She replaced the receiver and picked up the photograph of Remington Steele giving a luncheon speech. She regarded it for a moment, then put it down thoughtfully next to the coded page.  
"See you tomorrow, Mr. Steele."  
  
** ** **  
  
Laura resumed her spot on the sofa in his office the next morning. She spread her library book, a pad of graph paper, and several pencils on the coffee table. The first half of the sixty-page pad was covered in letters, numbers, and symbols. None of it meant anything. Mildred was having similar luck with the computer.  
Laura was up to the chapter on the history of ciphers and codes. After studying the book all night, she found herself having to stop and reread paragraphs when it all started to run together. Finally, she tossed the book aside and sank back onto the sofa, picking up the printout.  
"What are you trying to tell me, Mr. Steele?"  
She stared at the page for a bit, then the ceiling. When no answers appeared, she carefully placed the paper on his desk and went to lunch.  
When she reached the street, she forgot about lunch and walked.  
Everything was perfect, she thought, then he vanished. No one's seen him, heard from him. 'Richard Blaine' used a credit card to rent a car in Sao Paolo. When I found him, we were nearly killed. What was it he said? 'She found me?' Who was he talking to? Where did he go after Rio? Why did he leave?  
At first, she wouldn't believe he left her. He had built her trust from absolutely nothing and all her reasons to doubt him were gone. Gradually, she accepted it as a possibility, but his reaction upon seeing her again wasn't at all what she had expected. And now there was this glitch that read, "Laura."  
Laura stopped in the street and said, "It says 'Laura' when you read downward." 


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE -- THE MESSAGE  
  
Laura flew back into the office, past a startled Mildred, and snatched the printout from Remington Steele's desk. Mildred trotted after her.  
"It's a Caesar cipher!"  
"Run that by me again."  
Laura pointed at the page and explained, "It's a simple box. You read down instead of across. It's hard to read because the words run together." She was too absorbed in reading to say any more.  
"Miss Holt," Mildred said impatiently, "what does it say? Is it from Mr. Steele?"  
Laura read silently for a while longer.  
"It's from him," Laura announced, sitting down heavily on the edge of the desk.  
Mildred gently took the page from Laura and read haltingly, "Laura. Steele here. Sorry about Rio. I deserved that, and you deserve to know why I had to leave. The Major's back. He saw us on your doorstep that night and threatened to kill you if I ever contacted you again. He says I took Lily from him, so he's taking you from me. Watch yourself. I broke two promises that day. I hope you can forgive me again. I will be back when I can. Might be a while. I love you."  
Laura took the paper back and read it again.  
Finally, Mildred blurted, "What happened in Rio? What two promises did he break?"  
"He loves me," Laura said, like she knew it all along.  
Mildred tried to bolster Laura's courage and drive.  
"Come on, Miss Holt. You've got a case to solve. I'll run a check on the Major while you explain this note." She added jovially, "The more I know, the more I can help."  
Laura followed Mildred to her computer. As Mildred dug into the files, Laura explained what happened in Rio and why she went there in the first place. As for the two promises, she said, "When the Major struck before, he was only trying to get revenge on Mr. Steele. He was going to leave to protect me. When it was over, he promised he would never again leave me for my own good."  
"And the second promise?"  
"I'm not sure. The message said he broke it that day." She paused. "He can't mean the eggs."  
"Huh?"  
"He went out to get eggs. He didn't come back."  
"Oh."  
Mildred consulted the green type on her computer screen.  
"Major DesCoine broke out of prison two weeks before you and Mr. Steele, uh...ummm." Mildred studied the screen self-consciously for a moment.  
"And?" Laura spurred, worried about Mr. Steele, not propriety.  
"He killed a guard. According to this, the daughter is in prison in Spain for embezzling."  
"Like mother like daughter." Laura thought for a moment. "Mildred, can you trace our glitch? Maybe we can send a message back."  
"Way ahead of you, Miss Holt, but unfortunately, the answer's no. It's untraceable."  
"So now what?" Laura wondered. "If he figures out how I found him in Rio, maybe he'll give me another clue. On the other hand, if he figures out how I found him in Rio, maybe he'll make sure he doesn't do that again."  
Laura spent the next weeks unsuccessfully trying to locate two men who didn't want to be found for two very different reasons. 


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX -- THE AMBULANCE  
  
Laura's customary morning jog took her through the park and down several bike paths. She kept to the right, nodding greetings at oncoming bicyclists who shared her routine but in the opposite direction. She circled around and was about to enter the park again when a young bicyclist swerved right at her.  
When they had disentangled themselves from the jumble of pedals and frame, the young man apologized, asking if she was ok. She insisted she was, and the bicyclist sat down in the grass next to the road to put the chain back on.  
Laura heard the scream of an ambulance coming down the road and helped the cyclist move his bike further off the pavement. To her surprise, the ambulance stopped, claxon still blaring.  
"We're ok, fellas," she said. "Just a little fender bender."  
The two men in the ambulance hopped out and pulled Laura toward the back.  
"I'm fine, really," she protested.  
She turned to the cyclist for help, but he was gone.  
The attendants stuffed Laura into the ambulance. One got in with her; one slammed the double doors and went up front to drive. As the ambulance picked up speed, the driver switched the siren off.  
"Let me out of here!" Laura cried, stepping toward the attendant guarding her.  
The young man shoved her away, then waved his hands.  
"Sorry, lady," he apologized. "We're not supposed to hurt you, so just settle down."  
Laura looked confused.  
"What's going on?" she demanded as the ambulance bumped and jerked its way over railroad tracks and started up a hill.  
"The guy with the accent said not to hurt you, so you got nothing to worry about."  
"What accent?"  
The man shrugged.  
Laura repeated her question.  
"Dunno."  
"Irish?"  
He crossed his arms and thought for a bit.  
"Dunno. Could be." He huffed a laugh. "Sounded like James Bond."  
Laura stunned the man by smiling and sitting down cooperatively on the gurney.  
The ambulance slowed, still moving uphill.  
The man swatted the glass partition between the back of the ambulance and the cab.  
"Yo, Pete, what gives?"  
"Construction."  
He watched Laura a little more carefully now that the vehicle had stopped. She made no move toward the door.  
Laura heard the beeping of heavy equipment and felt the ambulance shake as an endloader rumbled by. Suddenly, the driver known as Pete tapped frantically on the partition, then leapt out the door. Laura and the other man tried to open the back doors, but they would not budge. Through the small windows, they could see the endloader coming straight at the ambulance.  
When the real ambulances came and Laura had been helped up the embankment, the attendants said it was a miracle no one was hurt.  
Relieved that Laura was safe, Remington pulled his yellow hardhat down over his eyes and tried to locate the driver of the endloader. He saw a small figure nearing the trees turn back to face the scene. The figure pointed at Steele, then pointed in the general direction of away. Steele had no choice; he slipped away to the airport without Laura seeing him. 


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN -- HOME  
  
Laura sat in the Rabbit under a streetlight on Rossmore with her neck craned upward. At eleven thirty, she watched the light in a window on the fifth floor click off. Laura went home.  
She repeated her activity the next two nights.  
On the third night, at precisely eleven thirty, she watched the light switch off. This time, she locked her car and entered the building.  
Laura exited the familiar grey elevator and walked down the hall. She automatically stopped at the door on her right, but stopped herself from knocking. She tried the knob and found it locked. She picked the lock, fumbling a bit as she tried to remember which tumblers to manipulate. When it yielded, she quietly stepped inside and locked the door behind her.  
The apartment was dark, but she could hear the shower running. She nudged open the ajar bedroom door and saw light underneath the bathroom door. Pulling the door shut, she went to stand in front of the windows. She folded her arms and looked up at the stars.  
The noise of the shower abruptly stopped. A few minutes later, Remington Steele stepped into the darkened bedroom dressed only in black slacks. He finished toweling his hair, draped the towel over his neck, and consulted his closet for a shirt.  
As he reached for the hangar, he noticed the bedroom door was shut tight. He scowled at it, worried that he had another surprise in store from the Major. He twisted the knob and peered through the crack. Seeing Laura standing there, he pushed the door open.  
The door creaked. Laura turned her head and saw him. He stepped slowly into the living room, both hands on the towel, unsure of what to say first. When he reached her, she put her arms around him.  
He hugged her close and whispered, "I missed you."  
"I missed you, too."  
Still holding her, he said, "You got my message."  
"Mildred is still wondering how you did that."  
"I don't think I can explain that, since I don't understand it myself."  
Laura laughed and looked up at him.  
"I'm going to get you a computer for your office."  
Realizing with this gentle gibe that all was forgiven, he relaxed and kissed her softly.  
  
** ** **  
  
"Why are you here? I mean, I'm glad you are," Laura said, "but why?"  
"Well, Laura," Remington explained, rummaging through the freezer, "I was in Madrid two days ago. I haven't seen the Major since. I thought I could manage to talk to you before he picked me up again."  
He thought for a moment.  
"I've been in LA for an hour. How did you know I was home?"  
"A few days after you left," Laura answered, unwrapping the package of chicken he handed her, "Mildred was here. She got rid of the perishables in your fridge and put your light on a timer."  
"I saw that. I turned the light off at exactly the same time, just in case the apartment was being watched."  
"Yes, you did, but it's a three-way bulb. When the timer shuts it off, it just cuts the power. When you shut it off tonight, you had to turn the knob through the other settings before it turned off."  
He prepared their midnight snack for the oven.  
"That's very good," he praised, making a mental note of the observation for potential future use.  
"Thanks."  
"So you watch my apartment every night?" he asked casually.  
"You used the same Richard Blaine credit card to buy your plane ticket as you did to rent the car in Brazil. I kept an eye on things here for three days."  
"Mmm," he muttered, setting the oven timer and sitting next to Laura at the dining room table. "I missed a few flights."  
"Passport trouble?"  
"No. Why?"  
"You haven't been using your Remington Steele passport. I checked. And you've been without your five other passports since Inspector Lombard confiscated them."  
"James Frazier," he said by way of explanation.  
Laura said, "Let me think..."  
He started, "Angels With Dirty Faces..."  
She finished, "...Humphrey Bogart, James Cagney, Ann Sheridan, Warner Brothers, 1937."  
"1938," he corrected.  
"Passports must be easier to get than I thought," she teased.  
"Anything's obtainable."  
Laura chortled. Here she was again, being stupefied by him. She realized just how much she missed him.  
"Mr. Steele," she said, taking his hand, "can I ask you something?"  
"Anything," he answered, raising her hand to his lips.  
"In your message..."  
"Yes, Laura?" he said between kisses.  
"You said something that has me confused."  
"What's that?" he asked, putting her hand down and patting it. He gave her his full attention.  
"You said you broke two promises. The first was the promise that you wouldn't leave me for my own good, correct?"  
"Yes."  
"What was the second?"  
He stood up uneasily and ran his hands through his hair.  
"I spent four years earning your trust," he began. After a beat, he continued quietly, "I rather thought that night we spent together was an implicit promise that I'd be here for the duration."  
Laura said, "I want you to be."  
"I still intend to make good on that promise." He added, "You deserve more than a four-year-long one night stand."  
She rose and went to him.  
"You said something else in your message."  
He laughed, a little embarrassed. She gave him time and brushed imaginary lint from his shirt.  
He bought more time by asking lightly, "And what was that?"  
"You wrote the message," she said, not letting him off the hook.  
For the first time in his life, he spoke the words, "I love you," and meant them.  
  
** ** **  
  
The next morning, Remington Steele sat on the sofa, eating leftover chicken. Laura looked in the empty refrigerator, then got a glass of water from the tap and wondered aloud if one could have breakfast delivered.  
"Have some chicken," he offered between ravenous bites.  
She paused in front of him.  
"Are you going to leave me any?"  
He chewed and passed her the plate.  
"It's amazing," she said, preparing to sit, "that you can cook something wonderful from nothing and I can't boil water."  
He teased, "Boiling water is harder than it sounds."  
Thinking of a retort, she sat. Something under the sofa clicked.  
Laura and Remington sat very still.  
With his mouth half full, he whispered, "What was that?"  
"Whatever it was, I don't like it."  
Laura leaned forward, careful not to shift her weight. She lifted the couch's skirt.  
"Bomb." She looked closer, studying the maze of electronics. "There's a readout here -- looks like it's wired for weight."  
Remington swallowed and said out of the side of his mouth, "What do we do?"  
"I don't know. I try to leave defusing bombs to the experts."  
"Cut the blue wire," he whispered confidently.  
"Why?"  
"It's always the blue wire on the silver screen."  
"This is really not the time for cinematic trivia."  
"Do you have any better ideas?"  
"No," she admitted, "but I'm not cutting the blue wire."  
They sat uneasily, searching for a solution.  
"Laura."  
"What?"  
"I have an idea."  
"I love it."  
"Raiders of the Lost Ark. Harrison Ford, Karen Allen. Paramount, 1981."  
She was about to chastise him for making light of being near death, but then she realized what he was referring to.  
"When he steals the idol in the beginning?"  
"Right."  
They started piling whatever they could reach onto the sofa. With each addition, they shifted further off the sofa. When they were sure the weight matched, they stepped gingerly away.  
Admiring the precarious pile of end tables and lamps from a distance, Laura said, "Are you sure you left the Major in Spain?"  
"I'm positive," he answered, not taking his eyes off the leaning stack of furniture.  
"Then this has been here for a while."  
"Probably."  
"It's clever, wiring it to arm only when two people sit down."  
He glanced at Laura.  
"I'm glad you approve. Now how do we catch the bugger?"  
Laura considered the question.  
"I think we should get the Major's daughter to help us."  
Remington smiled, knowing Laura had a plan, even if he had no clue what it was.  
She picked up the telephone.  
"What time is it in Madrid?" 


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT -- SPAIN  
  
"Laura," Remington Steele worried, "you're sure this is going to work?"  
"You've got nothing to worry about," Laura replied, spinning the gun on one finger and tucking it neatly in her waistband. "Mildred reported our gun stolen and I got a new one."  
"How did you get it through airport security?"  
"I have my ways," she responded coyly.  
Steele raised an intrigued eyebrow.  
"Have you spotted him yet?"  
"He was in the cab behind yours."  
"And he knows you're in Spain."  
"If he doesn't, he's not paying attention. I did everything but take out an ad."  
He hesitated before saying, "Right." Under his breath, he added, "That only works once."  
"What?"  
"Oh, nothing. Nothing," he quickly assured her.  
Laura let it pass.  
"Shall we, Mr. Steele?"  
Steele cleared his throat and straightened his tie. He stepped out into the square.  
He walked around the shops, stopping to admire the souvenirs in the windows and to buy some sunglasses. He wandered into a bakery and emerged with a cup of coffee.  
He strolled and sipped, stopping in front of a small theater to see what was playing. Coffee finished, he tossed the foam cup into a trashcan. Finally, he crossed to the fountain at the center of the square and admired the carving. He spun around when he felt a tap on his shoulder.  
"Laura, what are you doing here?" he exclaimed.  
Her face showed pure anger. He tried to stay in character as he noted that, in Brazil, it had been anguish. He decided the best way to keep up the act was to have a little fun with her. His face showed indifference.  
She slapped him. Tourists stopped to stare.  
"What am I doing here!" she yelled. "You left me!"  
He nursed his reddening cheek with one hand and gave her a look that said, 'I've left other women. Why should you be the one to care?'  
"Laura," he said loudly, trying to calm her down, "you knew it was coming. I'm just not a man who can be tied down."  
"You made a promise!"  
By this time, a crowd had gathered.  
"So I broke it," he replied callously.  
The crowd gasped.  
Laura looked livid. He gave her a sideways smile, daring her to do something about it.  
"'So I broke it'?" Laura fumed. "You son of a..."  
Laura pulled out the gun and fired two shots. Remington slumped to the ground. She cried out, as if realizing what she had done, and fell to her knees beside him.  
"You're getting very good at slapping me," Steele muttered into her ear.  
"Relax. This time I didn't mean it," she whispered between sobs.  
She cradled his limp body.  
"Here they come," he said, hearing heavy boots running along the cobblestone street.  
"And here I go to the prison where the Major's daughter is being held."  
As two patrolmen pulled her away, Laura saw an old man leave the square. She stifled a smile as she recognized Major DesCoine in one of his better disguises.  
  
** ** **  
  
Moonlight filtered in through the barred opening that passed for a window in the cell, giving a yellow cast to the crumbling white walls. Laura reclined on the thin mattress and tried not to think about the scurrying she heard under the metal bunk. The chipped porcelain of the ancient sink sang with each drip from the faulty tap. All that was missing, she thought, was a pair of shackles hanging from a peg.  
"Good evening, Laura."  
She leapt to her feet and spun towards the window.  
"Shhh!"  
"Sorry," he whispered. He pulled two plastic glasses out of the black bag slung across his shoulder and filled them with an anonymous amber liquid from a canteen. He handed one to her.  
"How's life on the inside?"  
She sipped the surprisingly smooth drink.  
"Not as good as life as a dead man, apparently. This is excellent."  
"Mmm," he agreed, draining his glass and tucking it away.  
"How did you get in here? I didn't expect to see you so soon."  
"It's painfully simple to get into a prison. The trick is getting back out." He paused to put her glass back in his bag. "Have you spoken to the Major's daughter? Is she buying your story?"  
Laura answered, "As far as I can tell, she's not here! No one I've talked to has heard of her."  
"This is the correct prison?"  
"Of course this is the correct prison. I arranged everything through the US Embassy."  
"Maybe I should double-check."  
Laura looked at her surroundings.  
"Maybe we should just fake my death, too, and escape to Fiji."  
He seriously considered the idea, but knew she wouldn't actually do it.  
"I'll check with the Embassy."  
He checked his watch and prepared to leave.  
"I almost forgot," he said, turning to his bag once more. "Here."  
He handed her a key.  
"What's this for?"  
"That," he said, "should open your cell should the need arise."  
Laura hid the key under the leg of her bunk.  
"You can thank Daniel for that later," he said as he left for the tricky task of exiting the prison.  
The mention of Daniel's name brought their conversation before Steele's "death" into focus. He knew about the ad! So he had seen Daniel, she thought. At least one of them could keep a promise.  
  
** ** **  
  
A few nights later, he returned to her window.  
"Laura?"  
She stirred from a dead sleep.  
"Mr. Steele, I'm glad you're here," she said groggily, pulling herself up. "I think we have a problem."  
"We have more than a problem, Laura. The US Embassy has heard of Stanford Frederick, but he was relocated to Argentina several weeks ago as punishment for a rather public affair with the Ambassador's daughter."  
Laura was fully awake now.  
"What! I spoke to him just days before we arrived in Spain."  
"I think," he said, "the Major has been rerouting calls again. As if that's not enough, you were right: the Major's daughter is not in this prison."  
"I don't want to know."  
"She's not in prison at all, actually."  
"But Mildred's computer records..."  
The implications of computer tampering hit both of them. Could the Major have seen Remington's message?  
"If he knows that I know," she began, "he knows our little skit for the tourists... which you enjoyed far too much, by the way...was fiction."  
"Relax. I didn't mean a word of it," he said wryly. He continued seriously, "If DesCoine knows, it means he knows I'm not dead and that we're pulling something."  
Laura's mind raced.  
"So what do..."  
Before she could finish, a spotlight clunked on in the guard tower. They squinted in the harsh light. It was a moment before either could see the band of armed prison guards rushing toward them. Laura did the only thing she could do: she ducked below the windowsill.  
Remington grumbled, "So this is it. You get life for killing me while I get twenty years for an attempted jailbreak. We spend the rest of our lives in separate Spanish prisons."  
As they handcuffed him and pushed him toward a waiting truck, Laura thought they were sunk. 


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE -- NEWS  
  
"What do you mean, 'No'?" Laura shouted. "How can you keep me here when the man I supposedly killed was arrested last night for trying to break me out?"  
"Take it up with your embassy," the guard gruffly replied in accented English.  
"I'd love to," she said malevolently, "but you won't let me call them!"  
"Not my decision."  
"Where was he taken?"  
The guard sighed.  
"Probably to the men's prison on the other side of town," he said, continuing on his rounds.  
Laura spun around in her cell, looking for something to hit. The kick she applied to the metal bunk left her nursing her foot, but it also sent the key she had hidden beneath its leg skittering across the floor.  
  
** ** **  
  
"Nice to see you alive and well," DesCoine said, "Mr. Steele."  
Remington sat down opposite the Major under the watchful eye of the visitor's room guard.  
"Why haven't they arrested you, DesCoine? You're an international fugitive and you killed a guard during your escape."  
DesCoine chuckled, "Oh, what people will believe because they read it on a computer screen. I was released on good behavior. Rehabilitated, you know."  
Steele put it all together.  
"You've set us up from the beginning, down to the last detail."  
"It was even easier than the last time. It's surprisingly simple to stay one step ahead of the great detective Remington Steele. And this time, I didn't even have to try to kill you."  
"What about the bomb under my sofa?"  
"Did it go off?"  
Confused, he replied, "No."  
"Electronic postal scale parts tend not to."  
"The bar explosion in Rio?"  
"A happy coincidence." The Major smiled. "That establishment was a rather rough place."  
"But what about the ambulance?"  
"Again, Mr. Steele," he said, "was anyone hurt? I've left no evidence, no clues. Nothing to tie your felonious behavior of late to me."  
"Eventually, they'll realize Laura didn't kill me and let her out."  
"I wouldn't be so sure. A gentle old man identified the body. A friend of the victim, as it turns out."  
Steele's mind churned.  
"What body?"  
"And the bullets turned out to be from the gun licensed to your agency."  
"What bullets? They were bloody blanks! And you have our gun. Laura reported it stolen."  
"Convenient, isn't it? She reports it stolen, then shoots you with it."  
"But..."  
"I'll leave it to your imagination. You should have plenty of time to sort out the details." He rose to leave. "Good day, Mr. Steele."  
  
** ** **  
  
Laura stared at the key, but did not pick it up.  
I could get out, she thought, but then what? Break Mr. Steele out and head for the embassy with no evidence, no proof that DesCoine had done anything at all? Getting out of this jail is like knowing where to turn at the first intersection of a giant maze, but not knowing where to go after that.  
She decided to leave the key where it landed: stuck in a crack between the dusty floor and the crumbling wall.  
  
** ** **  
  
Trying to figure out how to steal the damp newspaper from the guard while looking busy, Remington Steele sank back against the white monolith of the industrial clothes dryer. Sweat dripped from the tip of his nose.  
The guard waved the paper at him and shouted. Steele knew enough Spanish to get back to work, taking clothes and sheets from the huge washer and stuffing them into the dryer. The guard turned to another inmate and shouted again. The other inmate did not take direction as well, so the guard dropped the paper on the floor to yell with both hands.  
Steele tucked the paper into his waistband and pushed a cartload of laundry out into the prison.  
  
** ** **  
  
Laura sat in her cell, aimlessly writing a letter she knew she would never mail. She doodled on the page, wishing she had something else to think about.  
"Still to your mother?" the guard asked through the bars.  
"Si," Laura replied. "What would you tell your mother?"  
"My mother," he laughed, "wouldn't have let me go to prison. She would have strangled me with her own hands."  
Laura nodded, knowing that if she ever did get out of this, she was going to have her phone number changed. And the agency's, too.  
"What you need is a distraction," the guard offered. "I have an English language newspaper in my office. I work the crossword to help my vocabulary. Perhaps you could help me?"  
"I'd love to," she responded, jumping at the chance to think about something other than her predicament.  
"I will be right back!"  
  
** ** **  
  
Steele reclined on his bunk and cupped his hands around the newspaper he had folded into a tiny square. He read a bit, then quietly refolded it to read the next column.  
  
** ** **  
  
"Five letters, starts with 'v'," the guard said. "Yiddish bedbug."  
Laura puzzled over the clue.  
"I don't know that one."  
He marked it off and looked for the next unsolved clue.  
"You know, you're a much nicer person when you're not yelling at me."  
Laura looked at him and said, "I know someone who would agree with you."  
They listened to a distant clock chime the hour.  
"My shift is over." He passed the newspaper through the bars. "I'll be back tomorrow. See if you can get more words."  
She put the newspaper next to the unfinished letter.  
  
** ** **  
  
Remington moved on to a new page, peering out of his cell to see if anyone heard the pages rustling. He quickly double-checked for guards when he gasped at what the square of newsprint contained.  
  
** ** **  
  
Laura finished her dinner and did the only thing she could. She picked up the newspaper and her pencil and considered the crossword.  
No closer to Yiddish bedbugs, she looked through the paper for some word of the world, even if it was a week old. On page two, she stopped reading abruptly when a picture on page three caught her eye. A man had been killed in a town two hundred miles away at about the same time she was shooting Remington. The man's body had disappeared. Police were looking for anyone who could give them a lead. Run-of-the-mill, Laura thought, except that, to someone with only a passing acquaintance, the photo appeared to be that of Remington Steele. 


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN -- JAILBREAK  
  
"Hi!" Laura greeted Remington through the cell bars.  
"Laura!" Steele whispered. "Get me out of here."  
She looked him up and down. The flat grey jumpsuit did nothing for him.  
"Nice suit."  
"Orange really isn't your color," he quipped back. "What took you so long?"  
"You'd have us pursued by every cop in the country while we have nothing to go on?"  
"So you have something?"  
"Yup."  
"So do I. Let's get out of here so we can compare notes."  
Laura passed him the key she had used an hour earlier to open her own cell. They regrouped ten minutes later in the bramble outside the prison walls.  
"It's forty miles to Madrid and the embassy," Steele noted.  
"It'll be hell getting a cab at this hour."  
"Very funny. If we walk and they notice we're gone, they've got us." He looked around for inspiration and found none.  
"We don't have a choice at the moment, Mr. Steele."  
They set out across a field.  
"You wouldn't know a five-letter Yiddish word for bedbug, would you?" Laura asked as they walked.  
"Can't say that I do. Why?"  
"I made friends with one of the guards."  
Steele snorted.  
Laura continued, "We did a newspaper crossword. I owe him that word, I think, to make up for the trouble he's going to be in when they realize I'm gone."  
"Did you happen to look at anything besides the crossword puzzle? I know how DesCoine plans to keep us locked up. He supplied the authorities with a body." He paused as they reached the road at the other end of the field. "Supposedly mine."  
"I know." Laura looked both ways, pointed left, and set off, leaving him to trot behind her. "As soon as I found out, I came for you. All we have to do now is take this all to the authorities."  
"That gets us off the hook, but the Major'll still be out there. Who's to say he won't be back?"  
Laura did not want to consider the possibility, but her subconscious wouldn't let her leave the problem alone. They walked in silence for a few minutes. By the time they reached the outskirts of a village and ducked behind a building to rest, away from the solitary streetlight, she had the beginnings of a plan. Before she could tell Remington about it, she noticed a car.  
"Maybe it won't be so hard to get a cab after all," Laura said, pointing down the street to a small house. The Mini parked in front of the darkened house sported a taxi light. "What's a little grand theft auto to go with murder and a prison break?"  
  
** ** **  
  
It was nearing dawn before Laura and Steele finally convinced the Marine guarding the embassy to let them in. They tried to explain the situation and their proposed solution to a bleary-eyed man in a rumpled suit with a poorly knotted tie.  
"I think we can get him, folks," he agreed after a long telephone conversation that began in Spanish and ended in hushed English.  
The young embassy official pushed back his chair and regarded the disheveled pair before him.  
"Your guys are willing to help us set him up?" Laura asked, self- consciously brushing dirt off her prison garb.  
"I spoke to a... " He consulted a notebook. "Detective Jarvis. Major DesCoine may have been released, but he's in violation of about fifteen parole conditions, not to mention the new charges based on what he's tried to do to you two."  
"Let's go, then." Remington Steele was impatient.  
"Now wait a minute. It's five thirty a.m. It will take several hours to get organized and get everyone in position." He pushed a buzzer on his phone. "We've got some guest rooms here for visiting dignitaries and the like. I suggest you just lay low for a while. Get some sleep and enjoy your freedom before putting your lives on the line to catch this man."  
An annoyed-looking woman dressed in a conservative pantsuit appeared to lead them to their room. Laura immediately left the office, but Remington remained for a moment before following.  
  
** ** **  
  
Remington stretched out on the bed with his hands folded behind his head. His shoes were kicked off at the foot of the bed and he had stripped to the waist in anticipation of his turn in the shower.  
He heard the water stop and sat up. Laura emerged, dressed in a borrowed tee shirt and sweat pants.  
"Well, that felt wonderful," she said. "Hot water."  
"Glad to hear it," he commented, collecting a towel from the rack outside the bathroom door. "You know, Laura, I've spent more time in jail since I met you than before."  
She laughed, "So have I, but then I was never in jail before I met you."  
"Well, I'm glad you didn't leave me there any longer. Miserable place. No air conditioning, bad tailoring, no movie theater." He looked directly at her. "And no you."  
Laura kissed him softly and shooed him into the bathroom.  
When he emerged, dressed in pajamas that were too big for him, he found Laura sitting in a wingback chair.  
"Which side of the bed would you like?" he asked, yawning.  
She hesitated for a minute before declaring she would take the right side. They situated themselves, awkwardly jockeying for blankets and finally settling uneasily with a wide gap between them. She switched off the lamp and the room was as dark as could be expected with the sunrise.  
"Good night, Mr. Steele."  
"Sweet dreams, Laura."  
Remington, the dark circles under his eyes showing his lack of sleep, lay awake, unaware that Laura was doing the same. Each was unsure of this sleeping arrangement given their changed relationship. Each wondered what the other expected.  
After ten minutes of this, he finally had torment enough.  
"Laura, are you awake?"  
"Yes," came the fast reply.  
"Has our relationship suddenly done an about-face that I am unaware of?"  
"No."  
"Then this is silly."  
Neither moved. Steele pushed his hands through his hair and made a decision. He rolled onto his side and pulled her abruptly toward him. He wrapped his arms around her and promptly went to sleep.  
Laura marveled at him for a while, then closed her eyes and tried to forget about Major DesCoine. She drifted to sleep, locked securely in Remington's arms.  
  
** ** **  
  
Remington Steele slid from bed in the late morning, careful not to disturb Laura. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and was about to return to her when he heard a timid knock on the door.  
He opened it and greeted Andrew Thornton, the young official they had spoken to earlier.  
"Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Steele, but I heard the water running, so I knew you were awake."  
Steele reassured him that it was no trouble with a wave of his hand.  
"Everything is set. The Spanish authorities are in the loop and we've put the word out among our informants that you and Miss Holt have escaped and have arranged a secret meeting with me for two o'clock."  
"Very good. I'll tell Miss Holt and we'll be ready."  
"When you're dressed, you can go downstairs and the chef will make you whatever you want."  
"Thanks. I'm starved."  
He was preparing to shut the door when Andrew suddenly rummaged in his pocket and handed Remington a small object.  
"I almost forgot about this."  
Steele placed the object in the pocket of his pajama top and thanked him again, then closed the door. When he walked back into the room, he saw Laura was awake and sat down next to her.  
"It's all set."  
"Good," she said, arching her back to work out the kinks. "How long have you been up?"  
"Oh, not long," he replied, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. "Just long enough to make up for something."  
She looked at him quizzically as he put his hand into his pocket. He held up an egg with two fingers.  
"Better late than never?" 


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN -- DENOUEMENT  
  
Remington and Laura sat at a table in a small outdoor cafe two blocks from the embassy, each holding an open newspaper and failing to look inconspicuous. If the Major was out there, he would see them. They just hoped they would spot him as well.  
Laura wore a white blouse and jeans, while Steele sported a blue button-down shirt and black slacks. Laura looked around and noted three other couples, similarly dressed. She folded her paper and ordered coffee from a passing waiter.  
"Anything?"  
"Not yet," he said, turning a page.  
Laura continued to watch the pigeons and look for the man who continually reappeared to exact revenge. The waiter brought her coffee.  
"Laura," Steele said evenly, "do you see the green truck?"  
She sipped her coffee.  
"The old pickup?"  
"That's the one. The driver hasn't come back out of the office building behind it."  
"What does he look like?" she asked, keeping her tone conversational.  
"About the right height, grey hair, blue jacket."  
"If it's him, he could have changed disguises." Laura scanned the pedestrian traffic. "He could be anyone."  
Remington carefully set the newspaper down and nodded toward the truck.  
"We are in big trouble."  
Laura turned and saw an undisguised Major DesCoine leaning over the side of the truck's bed. As she tried to figure out what he was doing, she caught a glimpse of gunmetal.  
"I thought he wasn't trying to kill us this time!"  
"Apparently," Steele said, deliberately dropping the paper on the ground, "he's changed his mind."  
Laura rose and dropped some coins on the table, then strolled toward the nearest couple dressed like them. When she reached them, the woman stopped to peruse a rack of postcards while Laura and the man walked on.  
Keeping DesCoine in sight, Steele also rose. He crossed the street and passed behind a bus shelter. A different man in a blue shirt came out the other side.  
The Major looked confused for a moment, trying to keep track of his prey. He saw two more couples swapping partners in front of a travel agent's office. His confusion melted away as he figured out what was going on. He laughed appreciatively and pulled the shotgun from the back of the truck, keeping it down at his side.  
Major DesCoine walked away from the truck, scanning the people around him. He caught a glimpse of a white shirt behind a newspaper and started to raise the gun, only to hastily re-hide it when he realized it was another decoy. He spun around, frustrated.  
  
** ** **  
  
Remington Steele was crouched behind a large tree with a Marine dressed in a white shirt.  
"What's going on? Why aren't they arresting him?" he asked her.  
She adjusted her earpiece with one finger and listened for a moment before answering.  
  
"Mr. Thornton and the local chief of police are each arguing that the other has jurisdiction. Apparently, neither wants the responsibility of an international incident."  
"There'll be no incident if they get him before he shoots someone!"  
He peered out and watched as Laura crossed the road and changed partners again. He saw DesCoine follow the switch and raise his gun, scattering the frightened passersby. Steele yelled as the gun boomed and one of the women in white shirts fell.  
Before he could rush out, the Marine stopped him.  
"Wait! You can't help anyone if he shoots you, too. Stay here," she ordered. She listened to her earpiece again. "Now each one is claiming the jurisdiction is theirs. Bureaucrats!"  
They both jumped as the gun sounded a second time. Steele grabbed the radio from the Marine's belt and keyed it.  
"Make a bloody decision!"  
  
** ** **  
  
Laura heard Remington's cry from the dangling earpiece of the woman she had dragged behind a lorry. Relieved to discover she wore a bulletproof vest, Laura left her behind the truck and rolled beneath it for a sheltered view of the goings-on. The second gunshot had blown out a window; Laura cringed and covered her head as the third shattered the truck's windshield.  
As she brushed glass away, she heard a flurry of chatter over the Marine's radio. She strained to hear it, afraid to move to get the radio and give away her position. She shook her head and gave up trying to make out the words.  
Major DesCoine swung around, searching for Steele and Laura but finding only facsimiles in blue and white shirts. He soon realized they surrounded him.  
"Mr. Steele!" he shouted. Not expecting or receiving a response, he continued, "It's a matter of time! I will find you...or find her...and I will end this!"  
DesCoine backed toward the edge of the square, carefully keeping the gun down at his side. He appeared to be retreating, but Laura could see him mentally eliminating blue-shirted decoys one by one. She gritted her teeth as his eyes settled on someone. She could not tell from her vantage point if the target was indeed Remington Steele.  
Laura watched as the Major raised his gun again, but instead of the boom of a shotgun, she heard crack after crack from sidearms. He fell, and, from the sheer volume of bullets fired, Laura knew Major DesCoine would not be getting back up. 


	12. Epilogue

EPILOGUE  
  
Mildred sat at her desk with her hands folded in her lap, trying to think of office tasks that needed doing. After a moment, she plucked the lone buff folder from her desk, walked into Laura's empty office, and filed it. She returned to her chair and checked her watch.  
With no word from Laura, no clients to entertain, and no work to do, Mildred rechecked her watch and decided that ten thirty was not too early for lunch. She retrieved her purse from the floor beneath her desk and began to put a few small items inside.  
She had barely stood up when she heard the outer door swing open.  
"Good morning, Mildred!" Remington Steele patted the desk in greeting as he breezed by. "Tell Miss Holt I'd like to see her when she arrives."  
He vanished into his office, leaving a stymied secretary in his wake.  
Moments later, Laura arrived and headed for her office.  
"Morning, Mildred." Laura stopped when she saw the older woman's expression. "Is he here?"  
"Uh-huh." She still looked stunned. She plopped the purse on the desk. "What gives?"  
"I'll tell you about it later," Laura said conspiratorially as she changed course for Steele's office. As she walked, she continued, "Why don't you take a long lunch? We'll man the phones."  
Laura paused at the door and turned back to Mildred.  
"Go ahead. It's not like we're swamped here."  
"But..."  
"And lock the door, will you, Mildred?"  
Mildred watched Laura shut the burgundy door behind her and stood there indecisively for a minute, trying to work out what the story could be. Finally, she picked up her purse and left the office, bending down to lock the door before reluctantly walking to the elevator.  
  
** ** **  
  
Remington Steele reclined in his chair with his feet up on the perpetually bare desktop. Laura perched on the edge of the desk across from him with one hand resting on his ankles.  
"How much have you told her?"  
"Most," Laura answered, "but not all."  
"I suppose I can expect the Inquisition for the next few days."  
"I never called her from Madrid."  
"And she's not knocking at the door?"  
"I told her to take a long lunch."  
"Did you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
** ** **  
  
Mildred reached her car and fumbled in her purse for the keys. Unable to find them instantly, she set her bag on the car and rummaged through it. When the keyring was not among the myriad items spread out on the hood, she looked back at the towers of the office building and decided she had to go back up.  
  
** ** **  
  
Remington rose and circled the desk.  
"She could be gone for hours."  
"Yes, she could," Laura agreed, looking up into his eyes.  
"I suppose," he said, pulling her toward him, "that it would be a shame to waste..."  
Laura did not let him finish his sentence.  
  
** ** **  
  
Mildred waited in the elevator as people entered and pushed the button for their floors. She stood against the back wall when the elevator stopped on the second floor to admit more riders. The trip to the eleventh floor took several minutes; the other passengers stopped the elevator at every floor on the way up. Finally, the doors opened and she shouldered her way out of the crowded lift. She walked down the corridor.  
  
** ** **  
  
For a fraction of a second, Steele was surprised. She pulled away and started to ask if anything was wrong. Before she got out a single word, Remington tugged her back toward him.  
Laura leaned into his kiss.  
  
** ** **  
  
Mildred unlocked the door and crossed to her desk on tiptoe, listening for some snippet of information from the inner office. She opened a drawer, but temptation overtook her and she crept over to listen. Not hearing anything, she found her car keys and returned to the outer door. She locked it once more.  
  
** ** **  
  
Remington and Laura still had not separated. Their kiss had evolved into a burst of passion. Then the phone rang.  
Remington drew away and stared down the telephone, willing it to stop ringing.  
  
** ** **  
  
As Mildred retreated down the corridor toward the elevator, she caught the echoing ring from the office. She hesitated.  
  
** ** **  
  
"Shouldn't we get that, Mr. Steele?"  
The ringing continued. He answered her with a shake of his head.  
"Absolutely not," he said, adjusting his arms around her.  
"Might be a client."  
"Might be Francis. Or your mother."  
  
** ** **  
  
Mildred hovered in the hallway, looking from the office to the elevator. Her curiosity was killing her, yet she knew Miss Holt and the chief wanted to be left alone. Finally, she decided it was best to let them handle it as Laura had said. She reentered the elevator and went to lunch.  
  
** ** **  
  
Laura cringed at the thought, then said, "You know, we do have a business to run."  
The phone stopped ringing.  
"So answer it."  
"It stopped ringing."  
He kissed her again. "What did?"  
"The phone!"  
"What phone?"  
Laura grunted in exasperation.  
"Where were we?" he asked, brushing his hand through her hair. "Oh yes."  
He pulled her to him once more. She was ready to push him away and lecture him for the thousandth time about how hard she had worked to build up the agency and how they shouldn't throw away business, but something in the way he held her now kept her there. The months apart melted away and Laura felt like this was the next morning they should have had.  
The telephone began to ring again.  
They ignored it.  
  
THE END  
  
Author's note: There are several songs that fit this story at one point or another, but I left out their mention because I thought the story didn't really work as a songfic. Anyway, here they are:  
  
Walk On By by Cake on the album Prolonging the Magic -- this works at the end of the Prologue when DesCoine tells Steele he has to leave.  
Miss Independence by Kelly Clarkson -- this describes Laura at any number of places throughout the series as well as throughout this story  
Against All Odds by Phil Collins  
Stormy Weather by Billie Holliday  
Hopelessly Devoted by Olivia Newton-John -- yes, the one from Grease. Really.  
  
And, if you like, the man the Major killed to supply the authorities with Steele's body was Anthony Roselli. 


End file.
